The girl lay beside him in the sleeping-bag. She was lying on her back with her head cradled in her hands, looking up at the roof of stars. He could just make out the pale pool of her face. She said, "James. You promised to tell me what this is all about. Come on. I shan't go to sleep until you do."
Bond laughed. "I'll tell if you'll tell. I want to know what you're all about."
"I don't mind. I've got no secrets. But you first."
"All right then." Bond pulled his knees up to his chin and put his arms round them. "It's like this. I'm a sort of policeman. They send me out from London when there's something odd going on somewhere in the world that isn't anybody else's business. Well, not long ago one of the Governor's staff in Kingston, a man called Strangways, friend of mine, disappeared.
His secretary, who was a pretty girl, did too. Most people thought they'd run away together. I didn't. I…"
Bond told the story in simple terms, with good men and bad men, like an adventure story out of a book. He ended, "So you see, Honey, it's just a question of getting back to Jamaica tomorrow night, all three of us in the canoe, and then the Governor will listen to us and send over a lot of soldiers to get this Chinaman to own up. I expect that'll mean he'll go to prison. He'll know that too and that's why he's trying to stop us. That's all. Now it's your turn."
The girl said, "You seem to live a very exciting life. Your wife can't like you being away so much. Doesn't she worry about you getting hurt?"
"I'm not married. The only people who worry about me getting hurt are my insurance company."
She probed, "But I suppose you have girls."
"Not permanent ones."
"Oh."
There was a pause. Quarrel came over to them. "Cap'n, Ah'll take de fust watch if dat suits. Be out on de point of de sandspit. Ah'll come call yo around midnight. Den mebbe yo take on till five and den we all git goin'. Need to get well away from dis place afore it's light."
"Suits me," said Bond. "Wake me if you see anything. Gun all right?"
"Him's jess fine," said Quarrel happily. He said, "Sleep well, missy," with a hint of meaning, and melted noiselessly away into the shadows.
"I like Quarrel," said the girl. She paused, then, "Do you really want to know about me? It's not as exciting as your story."
"Of course I do. And don't leave anything out."
"There's nothing to leave out. You could get my whole life on to the back of a postcard. To begin with I've never been out of Jamaica. I've lived all my life at a place called Beau Desert on the North Coast near Morgan's Harbour."
Bond laughed. "That's odd. So do I. At least for the ' moment. I didn't notice you about. Do you live up a tree?"
"Oh, I suppose you've taken the beach house. I never go near the place. I live in the Great House."
"But there's nothing left of it. It's, a ruin in the middle of the cane fields."
"I live in the cellars. I've lived there since I was five. It was burned down then and my parents were killed. I can't remember anything about them so you needn't say you're sorry. At first I lived there with my black nanny. She died when I was fifteen. For the last five years I've lived there alone."
"Good heavens." Bond was appalled. "But wasn't there anyone, else to look after you? Didn't your parents leave any money?"
"Not a penny." There was no bitterness in the girl's voice—pride if anything. "You see the Riders were one of the old Jamaican families. The first one had been given the Beau Desert lands by Cromwell for having been one of the people who signed King Charles's death warrant. He built the Great House and my family lived in it on and off ever since. But then sugar collapsed and I suppose the place was badly run, and by the time my father inherited it there was nothing but debts •—mortgages and things like that. So when my father and mother died the property was sold up. I didn't mind. I was too young. Nanny must have been wonderful. They wanted people to adopt me, the clergyman and the legal people did, but Nanny collected the sticks of furniture that hadn't been burned and we settled down in the ruins and after a bit no one came and interfered with us. She did a bit of sewing and laundry in the village and grew a few plantains and bananas and things and there was a big breadfruit tree up against the old house. We ate what the Jamaicans eat. And there was the sugar cane all round us and she made a fishpot which we used to go and take up every day. It was all right. We had enough to eat. Somehow she taught me to read and write. There was a pile of old books left from the fire. There was an encyclopedia. I started with A when I was about eight. I've got as far as the middle of T." She said defensively. "I bet I know more than you do about a lot of things."
"I bet you do." Bond was lost in the picture of the little flaxen-haired girl pattering about the ruins with the obstinate old Negress watching over her and calling her in to do the lessons that must have been just as much a riddle to the old woman. "Your nanny must have been a wonderful person."
"She was a darling." It was a flat statement. "I thought I'd die when she did. It wasn't such fun after that: Before, I'd led a child's life; then I suddenly had to grow up and do everything for myself. And men tried to catch me and hurt me. They said they wanted to make love to me." She paused. "I used to be pretty then."
Bond said seriously, "You're one of the most beautiful girls I've ever seen."
"With this nose? Don't be silly."
"You don't understand." Bond tried to find words that she would believe. "Of course anyone can see your nose is broken. But since this morning I've hardly noticed it. When you look at a person you look into their eyes or at their mouth. That's where the expressions are. A broken nose isn't any more significant than a crooked ear. Noses and ears are bits of face-furniture. Some are prettier than others, but they're not nearly as important as the rest. They're part of the background of the face. If you had a beautiful nose as well as the rest of you you'd be the most beautiful girl in Jamaica."
"Do you mean that?" her voice was urgent. "Do you think I could be beautiful? I know some of me's all right, but when I look in the glass I hardly see anything except my broken nose. I'm sure it's like that with other people who are, who are—well—sort of deformed."
Bond said impatiently, "You're not deformed! Don't talk such nonsense. And anyway you can have it put right by a simple operation. You've only got to get over to America and it would be done in a week."
She said angrily, "How do you expect me to do that? I've got about fifteen pounds under a stone in my cellar. I've got three skirts and three shirts and a knife and a fishpot. I know all about these operations. The doctor at Port Maria found out for me. He's a nice man. He wrote to America. Do you know, to have it properly done it would cost me about five hundred pounds, what with the fare to New York and the hospital and everything?" Her voice became hopeless. "How do you expect me to find that amount of money?"
Bond had already made up his mind what would have to be done about that. Now he merely said tenderly, "Well, I expect there are ways. But anyway, go on with your story. It's very exciting—far more interesting than mine. You'd got to where your Nanny died. What happened then?"
The girl began again reluctantly.
"Well, it's your fault for interrupting. And you mustn't talk about things you don't understand. I suppose people tell you you're good-looking. I expect you get all the girls you want.
Well you wouldn't if you had a squint or a hare-lip or something. As a matter of fact," he could hear the smile in her voice, "I think I shall go to the obeahman when we get back and get him to put a spell on you and give you something like that." She added lamely, "Then we should be more alike."
Bond reached out. His hand brushed against her. "I've got other plans," he said. "But come on. I want to hear the rest of the story."